In which Harry is naive
by Dilly01
Summary: The relief Harry feels after the war is over reveals some interesting character traits, hitherto hidden.


"One day more! Another day, another destiny," Harry warbled happily, if not very tunefully, as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. Finding his way blocked suddenly, he wasn't surprised to see Draco Malfoy standing between him and the staircase he needed to ascend. Malfoy took his prefectorial status very seriously, and although they had, technically, been on the same side for the last year, he never lost an opportunity to get one over on Gryffindors – especially Harry.

"What on earth is that dreadful noise, Potter?" Malfoy asked, disdain painting his every word. Determined to not let even his long term rival ruin his good mood, Harry beamed. "Sorry, I know I'm not a great singer, but I've recently discovered a real passion for Muggle Musical Theatre. Hermione says it's probably because I can finally relax now the war is over – I don't have to concentrate on Voldemort any more, so I can start to explore other areas of interest. So far, I've found out how much I love clothes shopping, how very beneficial a good facial and manicure can be, what a relief it is to finally have some control over my hair (yours looks adorable today, by the way, we should compare products) – and, of course, the true delights of a really classy musical, not to mention a good Kylie cd. Next step is finding myself a nice girlfriend, then I'm sorted."

Malfoy's eyes had glazed over during this soliloquy, but at the last sentence his expression altered to one of almost awed disbelief. Harry recognised it; Hermione wore the same expression whenever he discussed his love life (or lack of it) with her. "Yes, well good luck with that, Potter," Malfoy muttered. His face brightened. "Now, it's my sad duty, as a Prefect of course, to deduct points for that awful caterwauling. Five points from Gryffindor. And another five for being such a blind idiot – in the metaphorical sense, rather than the literal. Not that I expect you understand what I'm talking about, you dunderhead "

Harry scowled, partly at the points deduction, and partly because Malfoy was quite correct, he didn't have a clue what he was going on about. "What are you doing out here anyway?" Malfoy enquired. "Trawling the corridors hoping for some Hufflepuff loving were you?" Harry sniffed. "Not at all. I was helping Neville with his Herbology project. I quite enjoy working with the plants, they're sweet, though Professor Sprout has told me to stop naming them all – Neville gets too attached to them. Oh, no, look! Soil under my nails! And one of them has nearly split. Andre will kill me when I go in for my next manicure. Sorry, Malfoy, I must go and soak them." Malfoy watched him sashay off up the stairs, admiring the firm figure and long, lean legs. "Hmmmm," he mused. "Time to ask the others if they'll admit a new one to the club, I think."

Having soaked his poor abused hands, Harry made his way back to the Common Room, where Ron and Hermione were doing homework. Well, Hermione was. Ron appeared to be drawing an animated version of their last Quidditch match, when they'd beaten Ravenclaw 300 to nil. Harry's new found enthusiasm for all things fashion had not depleted his love of the game, although he'd altered his match robes to a more flattering cut. His friends looked up when they saw Harry, and beckoned him over. Hermione looked as pleased to see him as usual. Ron's expression was odd; currently he always seemed slightly embarrassed and on the verge of blurting out a question. So far, if there was one, it remained unasked.

Harry sat and chatted to them briefly, until Parvati and Lavender called him over to discuss their newly delivered package of lipgloss and eyeliner. Ron's eyes narrowed when he heard the squeak of excitement that Harry gave when he saw the Benefits box, and the redhead turned to his girlfriend with an expression of anguish. "Honestly, love, I'm trying to be supportive, and I am truly not homophobic, but where the hell has this all come from? He's so different!" Hermione frowned, and pursed her lips. "I don't think even Harry could answer that one. He's still mentioning finding a girlfriend, even though it's highly unlikely he really wants one. I've tried to broach the idea of, you know, a same sex relationship with him, but he's almost hopelessly naïve. We've just got to be supportive, loyal and good friends to him. Whatever." Ron nodded. "I know. And I will. As long as he doesn't decide that now Ginny's out of the question, I'm next in line!" Hermione glared at him. "I should imagine he's got better taste than that!" she huffed, and Ron, whilst never talented in Divination, foresaw a long evening of grovelling ahead.

Harry, meanwhile, was pondering over the strange realisation that whilst the vast majority of Gryffindor girls now considered him to be their bff, none of them had even the tiniest bit of romantic interest in him. Except Romilda Vane, but he didn't count her. Being certifiably insane, and all that. Neither did he feel any strong desire to get physically or romantically involved with any of them. Huh. Strange that. Must be part of the whole healing process that Hermione could natter about for hours unless stopped. He spent the rest of the evening enjoying the company of his housemates, and relished another nightmare free night.

Sitting at the breakfast table the next morning, Harry's contemplation of his pumpkin juice was interrupted by an indignant snort from Ron, who was next to him. Looking up, he found the source of Ron's disgust. Malfoy was standing beside them. "What's up ferret? I'm surprised you can bear to stand this close to a Weasley, you might catch something." Ron's face was bright red as he spat his words out. Malfoy's left eye twitched slightly, but instead of the usual insults, he said, in, admittedly, a very strangled voice "Not at all, Weasley. Whilst your Mother was obviously impoverished, none of you ever appeared less than clean and tidy, certainly not infested with any mites or parasites." Ron's eyed widened, and he turned, frantically, to Hermione. "Now what's going on?" he garbled. "Harry's not the only one going weird! Malfoy's being nice! It must be some kind of potion." Hermione flapped him away. "What do you want, Draco?" she asked, in a much more reasonable tone. She and Malfoy now got on reasonably well together, and enjoyed intellectual discussions their other friends couldn't manage or understand.

Malfoy tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Since you mentioned your enjoyment of musicals, I was wondering if you'd like to join a small film appreciation society that a few of us belong to. We've managed to get the wards adjusted so we can watch them in the dungeons, and it's our meeting night tonight. 8 o'clock, wait by the portrait of Humbert the Hiccuping to be collected." Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Who else is in this club, then? It's not going to be me and a bunch of Slytherins is it?" Draco looked offended. "I can't see why that would be so distasteful, but, no. There are representatives of all four houses – you won't even be the first Gryffindor."

Nodding slowly, Harry agreed, and Malfoy went on to his own table. Harry looked at Ron, who was staring at him with a horrified expression. "What?" said Harry defensively. "He was on our side, we're not enemies anymore – and like you said, he was polite to you just now." Ron shook his shaggy head, and returned to his bacon and eggs. "Quite, quite mad. Both of you. In fact, I think you deserve one another. So I shan't say another word. Not a single comment on the matter. I shall remain completely silent….." He was interrupted by both Harry and Hermione shouting, "Shut up Ron!"

Eight o'clock came, and Harry arrived at the portrait to find Justin Finch-Fletchey, Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, a sixth year Hufflepuff whose name escaped him, and, to his surprise, Neville, already waiting. They all greeted him enthusiastically, and the whole group followed Blaise Zabini when he came to collect them and take them to the dungeon they had set up as their cinema. On the way there, Harry nudged Terry and whispered "Is it just blokes in this club, then?" Terry gave him an odd look and said, "Well, yes, that's pretty much the whole point, isn't it?" Confused, but unwilling to pursue the matter, Harry nodded, and followed the other boys into a darkened room. He was impressed at the opulence of the room, but not surprised. Slytherins were known for their love of comfort, and this looked like a reproduction of a 1930s film magnate's private cinema.

Malfoy and Theo Nott were already there, and Malfoy clapped his hands and said "Welcome, all of you, please be seated. In honour of our new member, who is another big Musical Theatre fan, we have a choice tonight of Moulin Rouge, Mamma Mia or Priscilla Queen of the Desert." A quick vote saw Moulin Rouge as a clear winner, and Harry settled back in his comfy seat, a chilled butterbeer at his elbow. He hadn't seen this film, and was soon lost in the story. Looking round during one of the musical numbers he was jolted out of his complacent enjoyment by the sight of Neville and Anthony Goldstein. They had clearly seen the film before, or, alternatively, found a much more compelling form of entertainment in each other. Neville's eyes were closed in bliss and his arms were wrapped around Anthony, who was currently sucking on the side of Neville's neck. Peering cautiously round the room, Harry saw Blaise and Justin in a similar situation.

Oh. OOOOhhhhhh. It was _that _sort of club. Harry was grateful that the darkened room hid his blushes. He sank further down in his chair to contemplative his revelations further. He was surprised to find that, rather than feeling repulsed, he felt pleasantly tingly and intrigued. He was also beginning to feel like a bit of a twit. Merlin; Hermione, Ron, and oh God, Draco must be wetting themselves laughing at him. Oh well. As though he had read Harry's mind, Draco slid into the seat beside him. "Enjoying yourself, Potter?" he whispered. "Yes," Harry managed, hoarsely. "Oh good." Draco purred. "I thought you'd…..fit in rather well. Do you mind if I sit here?" "Not at all." Harry forced out. "I'd love to sit on you…..no, I mean next to you, oh sod it, you know what I mean!" "All in good time, Potter, perhaps we should start with a little light hand holding." Harry could see Draco's wicked grin, even in the dim gloom of the cinema. As he fidgeted uncomfortably, he felt Draco's fingers ghost over his clenched fist. He forced himself to relax, as Draco's clever digits performed magic on his palm, feeling shivers running up his spine and as Draco leaned towards him he turned and their mouths bumped clumsily together.

As first kisses go, it was far from technically perfect. But for Harry it meant everything, opening a whole new world, hitherto unknown to him. He lifted his hand to brush across Draco's smooth cheek, and smiled in the darkness. Draco turned his mouth into Harry's hand, then pulled him close again. "Thanks for asking me." Harry murmured. "I think I may take out full membership of this club."


End file.
